MOONLIT MATES - Forever Under The Moon

Selena Carter wiped her brow with a towel, fingers stained with bright paint still. The disarray of the small art studio she lived in enveloped her: canvases painted halfway still leaned against the wall, jars with dirty water scattered around the floor, and sketches of various subjects that she came across daily fixed messily on a corkboard above her worktable.

It was a mess, but it was her sanctuary, the only place in the world where the noise couldn't get in. Here she could make order out of the confusion- a talent she had honed not only in art but in life.

The stench of oil paint lingered in the room as a soft fragrance of lavender fumed from the candle that was only half-burnt on her desk. Outside, the city was alive, yet somehow, it was almost as if it had been subdued by the weight of the large red brick buildings of the studio. It was a humming sound that told her, as a rule, that life was still unfolding and that she was safe. Tonight, however, something felt off.

The full moon brightly lit the darkness outside her room through the blinds of a single window in the house. Every time the wind blew, shadows appeared to move around the room; some of them looked rather lifelike.

A chill ran down her spine. It was not that it was so extraordinary for her to lose herself in her artwork all through the night and into the morning, but tonight it felt different, as if it was observing her.

With a sharp shake of her head, she dismissed the feeling. 'You're just tired'. She hadn't slept properly in days, not since Claire, the gallery owner, had dropped the bombshell about the charity gala.

Selena had reluctantly agreed to donate one of her paintings, a decision that brought both pride and dread. The gala was tomorrow, and she wasn't ready. Not mentally, and certainly not socially.

Crowds were not her thing. Conversations about her 'process' or boring analyses by people who only saw dollar signs and not vision.

She then returned to the canvas concentrating on the swirling patterns of the scarlet and gold. But she quickly growled as her hand shivered at the brush and placed the brush down in disgust. The disquiet would not let her be. It was like the unpleasant stickiness of summer when the heat creeps through the rusted window and envelopes your skin.

The door opened with a sudden slam, and she turned to stone. Her brush hovered mid-stroke. This was past midnight when even the neighbors were most uncomfortable and way beyond the permissible time. Claire would have preferred calling before showing up.

It sounded again, this time louder and more real, penetrating the thin calmness of the studio. Selena's chest tightened. Who could be coming at this hour here? Her building was not the kind that people who were passing the area would just walk in to come and visit, and she did not have that many friends who would decide to just come over to her house.

"Who is it?" She could barely breathe; nevertheless, she tried to keep her voice even as she shouted, 'I am ready to make a statement now'. It wobbled a little – the first indication of her weakness.

Silence.

Her heart beat faster, her ears intent on hearing something more than the door. Perhaps it was some sort of joke. A drunk neighbor. She repeated that to herself over and over yet the feeling of queasiness kept building up within her. Something was wrong.

The knock came again, louder still, and she leaped as if stung. The painting brush fell with a clatter, spreading red color all over her old shoes.

Think, Selena. She looked for her phone in the studio but realized it had sunk somewhere beneath sketches and art supplies. Cautiously, she slid to the door, her bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. She leaned forward and looked through the peephole. There was only a dimly lit hallway. Too dark. The bulb installed outside her door was dead for several months, and she never had time to inform the landlord, and perhaps for a replacement.

Selena's heart was pounding; she slammed her hand against the door and was now wondering whether to open the door or call the police. A spike of instinct reared in her mind to not make a single twitch, but before she could heed its call, a low, gruffly voice came through the crack in the door.

"Selena. I know you're in there."

She could barely breathe; each breath she took coincided with the voice. That voice. Although she hadn't heard the sound for years, she would never forget. Victor Kane.

Memories tumbled to the fore, unwanted and unbidden. Above her temple, there was a scar that pulsed as if the memory inside was still struggling to break through. The images of Victor yet again came into her mind, enraged features, prominent cheekbones, emerald green eyes glowing with a serious hunger in them. The last time she'd seen him, she'd barely escaped with her life. The swelling on the side of her head had gone down but the terror remained.

She was astounded and she fell back – her mind was in a whirl. How is he here? Why is he here?

A shudder was heard as Victor leaned his weight against the door, judging the standard of the lock. It struck me instantly that he wasn't happy, "Don't make this harder than it has to be," he growled. "You owe me, Selena. It's time to come home."

Home–The word sounded lame to her. She knew she had no home nor family – not anymore. She had been so careful to establish a life independent of him, and she was sure as hell that she wasn't going to let him take it from her.

Finally, gathering courage, she took the nearest object that looked like a weapon to her–-an old paint roller that seemed to weigh a ton, and she was ready to attack. 'I don't owe you anything,' she sneered the words at him through the door. "Go away, Victor"

The laugh that came after that, sent shivers down her spine. "But do not think that you can escape my notice and pretend not to see you either."

'I know what you are, Selena. They say that there is no way one can escape fate because it will somehow exist even in the future that one wants to run to.'

Not a sound had left her lips when that doorframe squealed under the impact of a heavy strike. The locks wouldn't hold much longer. Terror rose higher, but before she could scream, a deep animalistic rumble came from the hallway.

It wasn't human.

From the door, splintering around the locks, Victor came into the room. He glared at her with green eyes" filled with the hunger of the hunter", and the cut that ran across his jawbone contorted into a grotesque smile. Selena whirled the paint roller, with all her might, trying to hit him with it though he grasped it, twisting it from her hands.

"Nice try," he scoffed, moving closer. "You always were feisty. That's what I liked about you. This time, though, you can't escape me".

The growl came again and it was rougher, nearer, and he stood still. The smirk faded slightly and he looked to the hallway when a shadow appeared just outside the door.

And then he appeared in the frame. The man was tall, immensely so, and had those broad shoulders and an aura of authority that seemed to fill the entire room.

'Get away from her,' the stranger commanded, in a low voice as if he were a growling dog ready to fight.

Victor's smile was back, although the look on his face screamed discomfort loud and clear. "Ah, Damian Blackwood," he said in a mocking tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the great Alpha's company?

Selena's head whirled as she tried to make sense of anything. Alpha? What was he talking about? And who was this man?"

As Damian merely looked over toward her from the corner of the ring, she felt that momentary connection, that immediately charged awareness between two animalistic beings. Then his eyes narrowed and he looked at Victor again.

A feeling of familiarity is instantly replaced with anger, "You've crossed a line," Damian said, his voice in a cold manner. "Leave. Now."

Victor gave out a laugh, low and menacing. 'This isn't over,' he said, getting toward the door. However, looking back at Selena before becoming hidden in the darkness of the night, he had some feelings. "You're mine, Selena. Don't forget that."

In a snap, like an elastic band that has reached its breaking point, the extension released the second he was out the door. Selena's legs weakened that instant and she dropped to the nearest chair. Damian moved toward her with careful deliberation, and it was as though he was frightened of frightening her.

"Who-what-are you?" she whispered low.

He knelt closely to her facing her, and his eyes, as silver as the surrounding night, appeared less severe. "My name is Damian Blackwood," he said. And 'I am here to protect you".

Her brain could not even begin to decipher his words before a sharp sensation pierced through her skull, and everything turned blank.

As the darkness closed in and the coma claimed her again and again, Damian let out a brief victorious smile with a golden light in his eyes, and at that moment she realized that her life would never remain the same.